


Revival.

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Drama & Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Traveler!Jongin meets Oh Sehun and they start a whirlwind romance. When Jongin realises he's starting to develop True Feelings, he gets scared and runs.





	Revival.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, I'm back :3 I'll be posting on both LJ and AO3!

If someone were to ask Jongin what he does for a living, he would proudly tell them that he’s a dancer. But that’s not exactly the whole truth; at the young age of twenty-two, Jongin is currently an _unemployed_ dancer. It’s a white lie, Jongin would argue, one that doesn’t really hurt anyone or anything but his own ego. It also doesn’t really help that Jongin could technically keep up this lie for the rest of his life – his grandmother had left him a hefty fortune when she passed away, and Jongin has enough to live out the entirety of his life without executing another grand jeté on stage. It’s a conundrum, really. Jongin loves dance, but he can’t seem to find the drive or the inspiration to make it somewhere in the world with it. At least, he thinks, not right now.

What he does want to do is travel. He rationalises this decision with: _maybe I’ll find some inspiration out there, it’s a big world after all_. So, on a balmy Tuesday night, he tells his parents that he’s going to try and look for a dance company outside of their home country, and they happily send him off with smiles on their faces. Jongin rolls his eyes at their naïveté.

Jongin packs light (for he can always buy whatever he needs, wherever he goes) – a few changes of clothes, necessary toiletries, and his ballet shoes. Hey, maybe he’ll actually find inspiration somewhere and put those shoes to good use. The flight from Seoul to London is a long one, but the excitement thrumming through Jongin’s nerves don’t seem to subside over time.

It’s raining when he steps out of the airport, but Jongin grins against the raindrops.

 

 

 

He poses with the guards at Buckingham Palace – one looks into the camera cross-eyed, while another glares at him sideways – and spends an obnoxious (and unnecessary) amount of money at a huge Marks & Spencer. The gargoyles and chimeras at Notre-Dame seem to stare down directly at him and Jongin stares right back. He walks along the Seine River and buys random knickknacks for his parents and childhood friend back home. He skirts around the Eiffel Tower, choosing not to get to close because the crowd is too big for his liking.

Although he dislikes wine, he stops at some wineries in Beaune and sips at some samples, pretending to be extremely knowledgeable about them – he thinks he manages to pull it off. He journeys up the Swiss Alps, indulges in too much Swiss chocolate, which changes to an indulgence in gelato when he enters Florence. He takes a picture with the Leaning Tower of Pisa complete with the (in)famous tourist pose, and ventures into the Vatican City. He peers up at the Colosseum and wonders what it was like to be a gladiator fighting to your death.

He chats up the boatman as their gondola floats down the canal – learns that he’s got three daughters, the oldest one an artist and the youngest a messy eater – and buys a keychain that features a mini pair of clogs in Amsterdam. Not too long after stepping into Anne Frank’s house, he runs his fingers along what’s left of the Berlin Wall. He spends two months in Europe, and with a fond farewell, he flies off to North America.

He eats one too many lobster rolls in Boston – a month later and he still can’t look at lobster without cringing –, drives through the Golden Gate Bridge and takes a picture of the sunset in the Yosemite National Park. He buys a meal at In-N-Out and animal-styles everything. He gets a little tipsy in Las Vegas, but still manages to walk away from the casinos with a comfortable net gain of $2,830. He pays an obnoxious amount of money to catch a show of JLo’s residency. Deciding to squeeze a little bit of exercise in, he goes on a hike into the Grand Canyon on the Bright Angel Trail and comes out of it with incredibly sore feet.

Passing by a busker in Times Square, Jongin spontaneously joins in with some dance moves. The busker cheers and plays a little louder, and Jongin dances for the rest of the song. After, he drops a twenty into the open guitar case and leaves with a bow. He parties a little too hard in Miami, and in the morning he vaguely recalls a pretty brunette clad in nothing but a neon blue string bikini giving him a hickey.

You can never go wrong with ice cream – Jongin buys three scoops from the main COWS creamery in P.E.I. and stocks up on postcards featuring their bovine mascot. He manages to catch glimpses of dolphins on his cruise in Cape Breton, and in Montreal, he feasts on poutine and smoked meat sandwiches. Yet, in all this time, he’s never once put on his ballet shoes.

 

 

 

Almost four months after he landed in London, Jongin lands in Toronto. He’s developed a nice tan over the months, and his suitcase is now considerably heavier. Summer is giving way to autumn, and Jongin can feel a chill start to nip around the curve of his shoulders. It’s almost night; the sun’s hanging dangerously low in the sky. Jongin decides to postpone sightseeing to the next day in favour of a long, dreamless sleep. He takes a cab to the AirBnB he’ll be staying in for the next three weeks – he’ll be staying with the landlord’s son, but the lack of privacy was offset by the price, cleanliness, and close distance to the city centre.

It’s almost midnight when Jongin peels himself off the cab’s upholstery and lugs his suitcase up the driveway of his temporary home. He knocks twice, and waits for the door to open.

When it does, the light from the foyer momentarily blinds Jongin, and he has to squint to make out a pair of friendly eyes situated just a little above his own eye-level. He can’t really make out any other facial structures – the light from behind shrouds the male’s face in shadows.

“Hello! You are Jongin?”

Jongin blinks when he realizes that he’s listening to Korean – heavily accented, but still Korean nonetheless.

“Hi, yes, I’m Jongin. Um, you speak Korean?”

The man steps aside and Jongin’s eyes fall on sharp planes that make up an ever sharper face. The smile that’s gracing the man’s lips are anything but sharp though. Good god, this guy is stunning.

“Yes, my parents grew up in Korea, but I was born here. I saw on the booking that you were Korean, so I thought that it would make you feel more comfortable in a new country if I spoke your language. It also gives me a chance to practice my Korean. I’m Sehun, by the way, nice to meet you.”

Sehun gestures for Jongin to step into the house, and Jongin does so, pulling his suitcase in behind him. Closing the door, Sehun takes Jongin’s jacket from him and hangs it up on a peg by the door.

“Come, I’ll show you your room. You and I will have to share a bathroom; I hope you’re okay with that?”

Jongin tells him that he doesn’t mind, and Sehun gives him another soft smile before starting up the stairs. Following closely behind, Jongin finds himself absentmindedly admiring the length of Sehun’s legs. When he steps up onto the landing of the second floor, Jongin redirects his gaze forwards and smoothly attributes those thoughts to sheer exhaustion.

“Your room’s down the hall; it’s the last one to the left. I’m just right across from you if you need anything. There are towels in the bathroom – that door over there –, and feel free to use any products you see in there. If you get hungry, go ahead and raid the kitchen. Oh – I should show you the kitchen.”

Chuckling, Sehun gestures for Jongin to leave his suitcase by the bedroom door and follow him back downstairs. In the kitchen, Jongin watches as Sehun opens the (huge) refrigerator and peer inside.

“Hmm, I’ll have to stock up on food soon. My parents usually do that; so when I’m alone I tend to forget. I’ll go first thing tomorrow. There’s still some stuff left in here though, so you won’t starve to death, don’t worry!”

“It’s okay,” Jongin says, “I’m not too hungry. Um, where’d your parents go?”

Sehun shuts the fridge door and heads back towards the stairs. “My dad has a business meeting in Tokyo, and my mum tagged along because it’ll be their 28th wedding anniversary in a week.”

“28? Wow, that’s a long time. My parents had me out of wedlock; they only married when I was 10.”

“Marriage doesn’t equate love,” Sehun tells him, stopping halfway up the stairs and turning around. “It’s just an event telling a big group of people that you love each other.”

Jongin mulls Sehun’s words over and over in his head as they continue heading up the stairs.

“Well, goodnight, Jongin! I’ll see you tomorrow perhaps? There’s a set of keys on your bedside table, so feel free to come and go as you wish. I hope you enjoy Toronto; it’s really quite lovely here.”

“Goodnight, Sehun. Thanks for opening up your home.”

Sehun gives him a bright smile and disappears into his room.

Jongin takes a quick shower (not without pausing to sniff at the different bottles of shower products lining the wall), nearly tripping over his own feet as he tries to pull his boxers on through a sudden haze of sleepiness. His eyelids slide shut the second his head hits the pillow, and he lets the silky sheets pull him deeper into sleep.

 

 

 

The next morning, Jongin cracks open his bedroom door and hears a soft clinking sound coming from downstairs. He stops by the bathroom to freshen up, and pulls on an old t-shirt and jeans before heading down. Sehun’s just taken his last bite of cereal when he enters, and is about to put his bowl away in the sink.

“Good morning! I hope you slept well,” Sehun says, rinsing out his bowl. “I have enough milk left for a bowl of cereal, but I’m afraid that’s all there is. I’m gonna head out to the grocery store now – if you’re not too hungry, you can wait?”

Jongin takes a minute to process Sehun’s words – he’s not too sharp in the morning, but it seems as though Sehun is.

“I’m not too hungry at the moment, actually. I could come with you instead?”

Sehun’s eyebrows rise minutely. “You want to come grocery shopping?”

“Sure,” Jongin shrugs, “it’d be nice to see the local supermarkets.”

Nodding, Sehun dries his hands on a hand towel. “Just let me pull on a pair of jeans and we can go.”

It’s only then that Jongin realises he’s been talking to Sehun while the latter was still clad in Pokémon boxers.

“Er, right. I should probably change into a shirt without holes in them.”

Sehun’s cheery laughter follows him all the way into his room.

A few minutes later, Jongin finds himself torn between staring at Sehun’s jean-clad legs or the Benz SLK300 shining in front of him like a blood red trophy. He nearly scoffs when the dilemma presents itself to him – he _actually_ has a life where he can afford to be distressed over such a ridiculous dilemma. He’s not complaining, obviously.

“Nice car,” he comments, resting a hand on the hood. He can almost feel the automobile purr.

“Graduation present. It’s like, two months old,” Sehun tells him, unlocking the doors and sliding into the driver’s seat. As Sehun turns to toss his jacket in the backseat, Jongin gets into the passenger’s seat and fastens his seatbelt.

Sehun’s fingers curl nicely around the wheel, and Jongin tries not to ogle too blatantly as Sehun reaches up with one hand to pull his own seatbelt down. Sehun’s turtleneck is stretching tightly – nicely – across his chest, and Jongin knows how to appreciate a broad chest, okay?

“It’s not too far,” Sehun says, starting up the engine. “The streets are also pretty quiet at this time of day; people are all at work.”

Relaxing into his seat, Jongin watches as Sehun puts the car into drive and pulls out of his driveway. The car moves so fluidly that for a split second, Jongin thinks he might’ve been moving on water.

“Your girlfriend must love getting to drive around in this car,” Jongin comments, eyes trained on the city as it flies past him in a blur. It’s the typical colour scheme of a busy city – grey, dulled brick red, dirtied white, and black, but it still intrigues him all the same.

Sehun snorts. “No girlfriend,” he says, turning his blinker on. “I’m gay as hell.”

Jongin chokes on his spit so hard that he swears a glob shot up his nose. Fuck, his sinuses are throbbing.

“Well,” he rasps, ears burning, “sucks for the girls then. They’re really missing out.”

They’re stopped at a red light, and Sehun turns to look curiously at him. A pause, in which Jongin furiously refuses to meet Sehun’s gaze, and then the corner of Sehun’s lips tilt upwards.

“Yeah? Thanks,” he says. He accelerates. “Glad to know I appeal to the gender I’m interested in.”

 

 

 

It takes a solid five days for Jongin to accept the fact that he’s insanely attracted to Sehun. What was the trigger, you ask? Well, on the night of his fourth day, he’d left his room to use the bathroom and ran right into a very wet and very naked Sehun. The only thing that protected Sehun’s modesty – and saved Jongin from a full-blown meltdown – was the towel tied around Sehun’s hips.

“Sorry!” Sehun had exclaimed, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

There was a tightening in Jongin’s heart (and groin) at the look of sheer innocence on Sehun’s face.

“That’s okay,” Jongin had said. He remembers, vividly, grimacing at how strained he sounded. “I’m just gonna go – uh. Bathroom.”

Once inside, Jongin had sighed heavily. “Way to sound like a hormonal teenager.”

The next day, Jongin wakes up and tries to bury his face in his pillow. All he’d dreamt about was Sehun’s face and his laugh and the way his fingers would wrap around Jongin’s forearm as he dragged him through the city. Sehun’s been his personal tour guide for the past few days, and Jongin is pretty sure that another day of sightseeing with Sehun would be devastating for his heart.

Gathering up what’s left of his guts, Jongin rolls out of bed and rushes through his morning routine. When he heads downstairs, he finds Sehun toasting two bagels. He’s got a loose tank top on, and Jongin almost wants to pout at those exposed arms.

“I got you all-dressed; you like it best, right?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He remembered?

After spreading a liberal amount of cream cheese on both halves, Sehun hands the bagel to Jongin and drops the other one into the toaster.

“So, I was thinking I could bring you to High Park today; there’re always a ton of dogs there, and since you love dogs –”

Jongin clears his throat and sets his still-warm bagel down.

“I think I should start to explore the city myself,” he says, cautiously.

Sehun looks confused. “Why?”

Jongin winces. “I can’t… spend so much time around you.”

Hurt replaces confusion and Jongin wants to ram his head against the doorframe.

“It’s not you, it’s –”

“It’s you?” Sehun finishes for him, sounding skeptical. “That’s a little clichéd, don’t you think? At least give me the respect I deserve and tell me what it is I did.”

“It’s literally nothing you’ve done,” Jongin mutters, fiddling with the bagel. Crumbs fall between his fingers and onto the plate. “It’s just… you.”

The toaster releases the bagel halves with a loud pop and Jongin jumps.

“You’re too… attractive. I don’t want to be attracted to you, much less getting attached to you. I’m only here for three weeks, and –”

“So you’re saying that you don’t want to be around me just in case you pop a boner,” Sehun says flatly. Jongin flushes hotly.

“Look,” Sehun continues, holding up a hand. “I think _you’re_ hot. But do you see me trying to distance myself from you like my balls have shrivelled up and became raisins? No. I’m trying to enjoy spending my summer with a hot dude because that’s how summers are _supposed_ to go. If something happens between me and that hot dude, then it happens. If not, at least I got to spend time with a hot dude.”

Jongin gapes at the irritated male standing in front of him. “You think I’m a hot dude?”

Rolling his eyes, Sehun grabs his bagel and leaves.

“Hey, hold on. You can’t just tell me you think I’m hot and then walk away, especially not after _I_ just told _you_ that –”

Sehun swivels around, tosses his bagel onto the table, and fists his hands in Jongin’s collar.

“You’re infuriating,” Sehun hisses, gaze hot on the swell of Jongin’s lip. “I’m so mad that I really want to kiss the idiocy right off you.”

Inching his face closer, Jongin bumps his bottom lip off of Sehun’s – a silent, yet brazen, invitation. Sehun’s eyes flick up to look at Jongin briefly, and there’s a heart-stopping pause before the tip of Sehun’s nose bumps into the side of Jongin’s as he tilts his head.

The fingers in Jongin’s shirt tighten their grip and Jongin lets his eyes flutter shut when Sehun’s lips close over his own, pressure hard yet gentle all the same. He brings a hand up to cradle the base of Sehun’s skull, and he can’t help but pull lightly on the hairs at his nape.

Sehun pushes Jongin back up against the counter, and it digs painfully into his lower back. But Jongin ignores the discomfort, parting his lips a little wider to allow Sehun better access.

“What’s summer without a fling?” Sehun asks, breathless. Jongin leans in and bites on Sehun’s bottom lip.

“It’s not exactly summer anymore.”

“Technicalities,” Sehun says, rolling his eyes, and when Jongin opens his mouth to reply, Sehun slides his tongue in.

 _Technicalities_ , Jongin agrees, mind whirring faster than ever as Sehun kisses deeper and deeper – somehow, it feels as though Sehun kisses hard enough to suck out his soul.

 

 

 

For the next two weeks, Jongin finds himself spending every waking minute with the cheerful, gentle-yet-loud male with deliciously long legs.

They do end up going to High Park and petting dogs, and Sehun buys them both overpriced popsicles from a cart in the park. They visit the Toronto sign at Nathan Phillips Square and Sehun takes a picture of Jongin posing like a ballerina in an ‘O’. They get gigantic chimney cone ice creams and it takes them so long to finish it that they end up with a sticky mess of melted ice cream all over their fingers. They go to the Canadian National Exhibition and spend too much money on fair rides. Sehun wins a huge stuffed monkey and gives it to Jongin.

Jongin learns that Sehun is a film student, and Sehun learns that Jongin is a dancer. They go to Lakeshore right when the sun rises and Jongin dances for Sehun and his camera. He finally puts his ballet shoes to use. The sunlight reflects off the water and it feels as though they’re drenched in the life that the sun brings. Sehun brings Jongin to his favourite ramen place and Jongin spends more time watching Sehun enjoy his meal than he does eating his own.

Sehun drives them to Niagara Falls and films Jongin’s face as he watches the water pound into the earth. They go to the arcade, and afterwards, Jongin ducks into Build-A-Bear and returns with a stuffed red panda for Sehun. They run around the aquarium like children, and Jongin takes a picture of Sehun squished up inside a little dome meant for kids.

It’s the last day they’re open for the season, so Sehun and Jongin brave the crowd inside Canada’s Wonderland. Jongin shrieks – unmanly – every other second on the roller coasters, and Sehun makes sure he doesn’t stop teasing Jongin about it. They get a caricature drawn of them, and they spend so much time at a particular water ride that the attendant has to kick them out of the line on their thirteenth attempt to get on.

They go to IKEA for cheap ice cream cones and hot dogs. Jongin sees a stuffed sun and points at it, then points at Sehun. “You’re my sun.” Sehun smiles so brightly that it hurts – in fact, Jongin thinks it’ll hurt less if he looks at the actual sun.

A few days before the end of Jongin’s stay, it rains. As raindrops try futilely to enter the house through closed windows, Jongin pulls Sehun impossibly closer, relishing in the warmth of Sehun’s bare chest against his own. Their breaths hang heavy in the air as Jongin pushes Sehun’s boxers down, and exhalations follow when Jongin maps the slope of Sehun’s shoulder with his lips. When Sehun settles over Jongin’s hips and sinks down onto Jongin’s length, Jongin thinks he sees the Big Bang happen right behind his closed eyelids. He tightens his grip on Sehun’s waist, and there’s a dull burn down his chest where Sehun’s nails are currently digging in. They move in unison, the slide and smack of skin against skin a symphony echoing around the room.

Sehun comes while screaming Jongin’s name; Jongin comes while suppressing a terrifying _I think I might love you_ against Sehun’s clavicle.

Afterwards, they find themselves sprawled bonelessly across the bed.

“Stay just a little longer,” Sehun mumbles. He’s curled up into Jongin’s side, a leg flung over Jongin’s hip.

“Yeah,” Jongin says. Sehun shifts under his arm.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jongin says again. He can hear the uncertainty in his own voice. But Sehun doesn’t – too sleepy, perhaps?

“That makes me very happy,” Sehun tells him, and Jongin can feel the faint smile nestled against his neck. His heart pounds faster, almost as fast as a dog’s tail wags when it spots its owner. His heart is happy.

His brain, however, is petrified.

He’s not used to feeling this way. Not used to a feeling of contentment with another person, not used to constantly wanting to be so close with someone else, not used to how his lips form smiles of their own accord. He’s not used to how Sehun’s touch calms him and sends him into a frenzy at the same time, not used to how addicting it is to kiss – and to be able to kiss – Sehun over and over and over again.

It’s too fast too soon. Too perfect too soon.

As Sehun falls into peaceful slumber, Jongin stays wide awake.

Growing up in dance, Jongin’s used to facing the music. This time, however, he doesn’t seem to be able to.

 

 

 

There’s an empty space where a body should be. Sehun’s arm extends, smoothing out the creases left behind by a body next to him not long ago. When he feels nothing but the sheets, he cracks an eye open and sees that he’s the only one left on the bed.

Getting out of bed, he shuffles out into the hallway, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Jongin?” He calls.

When he doesn’t hear an answer, Sehun heads towards Jongin’s room. The door’s ajar, and he pushes it open wide enough to look inside. The first thing he notices is the absence of Jongin’s suitcase. The second is a small piece of paper lying on the bed.

Sehun doesn’t have to look at it to know what it says.

_I’m sorry._

He stands there in the doorway, with a hand on the doorknob, and feels his heart implode.

 

 

 

Five years later, Jongin’s one of the main dancers in a modern dance company back in Seoul. Although still relatively new, the company has garnered an impressive following, and is now home to some of the most sought out dancers in Asia. The dancers are regularly hired by in-demand k-pop groups, and most of the top dancers in the company lead their own classes.

It’s almost as if Jongin had been reborn. The moment his flight from Toronto landed in Seoul all those years ago, he developed an incessant itch to dance. The dam that used to hold back inspiration crumbled into a million pieces, and everything that was once held back now surged forward. Jongin drank from it hungrily, as though it was his sole lifeline.

But he stops dancing ballet. Instead, he turns to a mixture of contemporary and hip hop – looking at his ballet shoes hurt too much.

Regardless, it didn’t take Jongin long to adjust to his newfound passion for dance. He churned out choreography after choreography, and before long, people were scrambling to sign up for his classes. Idols wanted him in their music videos, and over the course of his four years as a main dancer, he’s starred in over two dozen music videos.

But he tries to stay humble. He doesn’t forget what led to this waterfall of inspiration.

On a Wednesday afternoon, Jongin wraps up his only class of the day and heads into his office to change into a clean shirt. Cassie, their receptionist, flags him down when he walks by.

“Hey, Yunho wants to see you in his office. Something about a new job?”

After a swift change of clothes, Jongin heads down the hall towards his boss’ office. He knocks once, waits for Yunho to call him in, and pushes open the door.

What he sees inside absolutely floors him.

It’s Sehun – and five years have done a lot to him, Jongin notices. His once lanky frame is now filled out, and he’s got an undercut that shows off his long neck and sharp jawline. His effortlessly coiffed hair flops over his left eye, and Jongin itches to sweep it away. He’s got a scar on his cheek, only evident under certain light. Is the scar new? Jongin can’t really recall noticing it before.

“Take a seat,” Yunho says, oblivious to the war raging inside – and between – both men. Jongin takes a few steps towards a vacant chair, his joints suddenly stiff. His eyes never leave Sehun’s, and Sehun doesn’t stop burning a hole through Jongin’s skull.

Just before Jongin takes a seat, Sehun moves.

The punch lands squarely on the side of Jongin’s face, and the pain that shockwaves through his teeth and up to his eye doesn’t compare to the pain in his heart.

It’s only when Jongin hears the office door slam shut does he realize that Sehun had left the room.

“What the hell was that about?” Yunho demands. He darts to his mini fridge and pulls out an ice pack (he always keeps one in his office just in case; he is running a dance company after all) before tossing it to Jongin.

“We have… a history,” Jongin mumbles, wincing as the cold hits his throbbing jaw.

He can feel Yunho’s raised eyebrow.

“You fucked up, didn’t you? Well, fix it. We need him, he’s a very important client. He’s a rising star in his field, and he’s been in high demand for years. He moved to Seoul not long ago, and is currently working for one of the biggest entertainment companies in Korea. If he signs this deal, we have a contract for five big budget music videos.”

Sighing, Jongin leaves Yunho’s office and heads back towards Cassie’s desk.

“Did you see Yunho’s client walk by?”

“Yeah, he’s in the bathroom. What happened to you?”

Jongin waves her question off. “Walked into a doorframe. Thanks.”

He takes a moment to collect his guts before entering the men’s washroom.

Sehun’s hunched over a sink, knuckles white as he grips the porcelain. The sleeves of his dress shirt are pushed up over his elbows, and his once neatly styled hair looks like a mess.

“Sehun –”

“Don’t.” Sehun straightens and looks at himself in the mirror. “You walked out on me. Today, I’m walking out on you.”

“Can we settle this outside of business? I –”

“You don’t get to demand things from me,” Sehun says, clipped. Without another word, he pushes past Jongin and leaves the bathroom.

He’s gone from the studio by the time Jongin exits.

 

 

 

For some reason, Sehun still signs the contract with Yunho.

Jongin doesn’t see Sehun return, but he learns about it when Yunho enters his office a few days later and gives him a sympathetic pat on the arm.

“Here’s some ointment for that bruise. If it’s any consolation, he won’t be punching you anymore after that; he’ll need you bruise free for filming. Well, unless bruises are part of a concept…”

“Filming? Me? Why me?”

“That’s a stupid question. You’re the most experienced dancer we have, not to mention the one with the biggest fanbase. Despite that slug to your face, I know Sehun is a very professional director – there shouldn’t be anymore issues, assuming you don’t start anything. Anyway, the choreographer for the first music video is coming tomorrow; you have a week to learn the dance. Good luck!”

Jongin has a really bad feeling about this.

 

 

 

To Yunho’s credit, he’s right about Sehun’s professionalism. On Jongin’s first day at the shoot, Sehun gives him a glance that Jongin deems is his form of greeting. Any form of communication they have between them over the course of filming is strictly professional.

“Move a few feet over to the right,” Sehun calls, face hidden behind the monitor. “Okay good. Kay, you’re just an inch or so behind him – yes, good.”

Jongin doesn’t think he’s ever had a shoot go by so smoothly before. It’s an intricate video, one that requires multiple retakes of the same scene because Sehun wants it in a different angle or under a different light. The idols have to go through a fair number of wardrobe changes, and the sets take hours to set up. The whole video takes a little over two days to shoot – they get time to sleep, of course –, and by the end of it, Jongin is a weird mixture of exhausted and exhilarated.

“Great work everybody,” Sehun calls, getting up from his chair and stretching out stiff limbs. “Don’t forget to drink lots of fluids and get some well deserved sleep.”

Jongin watches discreetly out of the corner of his eye as the idols thank Sehun one by one. He busies himself with removing the complicated mess of buckles of a top that he was strapped into for the music video, and hears the door to the studio open and close as people start filing out.

“I’ll take that with me,” he hears Sehun say. “Don’t worry about it. Go home, you look like you could sleep for a whole day.”

He’s pulling a t-shirt on when he senses someone walk up to him.

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are,” Sehun says, and Jongin nearly jumps out of his skin at the proximity of Sehun’s voice – it almost tickles his ears. “Go home, Jongin, I don’t –”

“We should talk about this.”

Stuffing his empty water bottle into his sports bag, Jongin hoists it up onto his shoulder and turns around to face Sehun.

“We really should talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Sehun shrugs, turning away. “There was nothing left the moment you left me standing alone in your empty room, in an empty house, with nothing but an _I’m Sorry_. Go home, Jongin.”

Jongin watches helplessly as Sehun leaves the studio. The door swings shut, and the sound echoes through the empty space, sounding just as hollow as he feels.

 

 

 

For the next month or so, Jongin’s choreography takes on a melancholy note. He may or may not have cried once while choreographing a piece for class – but even if he did, he will never admit it. A couple of his students have even given him a basket filled with baked goods, and one of them gave him a hug at the end of a class.

Jongin is constantly wallowing in a state of self-pity, and the raincloud hanging above his head is so foreboding that Yunho pulls him out of the office one day and presses Sehun’s name card into the palm of his hand.

“Please do something about this,” he pleads, waving at the space above Jongin’s head.

“What?” Confused, Jongin looks up.

“The perpetual thunderstorm you have above your head. It follows you everywhere. The halls are all wet now.”

Jongin snorts.

“Seriously though. Do something about it.”

 

 

 

_You have 30 minutes to get here. If you’re late, I’m leaving._

Jongin stares at his phone in disbelief. He’d messaged Sehun an hour ago asking if he’d be willing to meet up with him to talk things through, and Sehun had just answered with the name of a bar and a warning to get there within half an hour. He didn’t think Sehun would reply to his text, let alone agree to meet him.

The bar isn’t far from his apartment, and Jongin gets there in twenty. He spies Sehun perched on a bar stool, head hung.

“Hmm, you made it.” The words slur a little, but Sehun still seems relatively clear headed.

“Yeah, didn’t want you to leave.”

Sehun scoffs, the sound almost drowned out by the noise in the bar.

“I wasn’t the one who left,” he mutters bitterly into his glass of whiskey. Jongin looks away.

Jongin gestures for a beer, and he fills the awkward silence by playing with the droplets of condensation clinging to the glass.

“You devastated me,” Sehun says quietly. He swirls the ice in his glass around, and around, and around. “I knew you were going to leave at some point, I just didn’t expect you to leave without a word. Did our time together mean absolutely nothing to you? Did I not command enough respect to at least warrant a goodbye? I know that what we had back then was to be a fleeting affair, but duration doesn’t go hand in hand with intensity. In those few weeks, I felt so many things for you that I’ve never felt for anyone else before or after. You had no right, Jongin. You had no right to lift me up and drop me down without a single rope for me to hang on to.”

“I left because I was scared.”

“We’re all scared, Jongin. Scared of change, scared of living life. Us humans are a jaded race.”

“No – I was scared because I was starting to fall in love with you, Sehun. And I didn’t want to walk away when I _am_ in love with you. I didn’t want that pain. So I left before that could happen. I thought you would’ve been alright.”

“So you were being selfish.” Sehun deadpans. “Have you ever thought that it hurt so badly for me because I was already in love with _you_?”

Sehun drains the last of his drink and pushes the empty glass towards the bartender for a refill. The second the bartender hands Sehun a new drink, Sehun drains it all in one gulp.

“You know what the cherry on top of the sundae is?” Sehun places the glass down on its coaster. “I don’t even hate you. I can’t even hate you.”

With that, Sehun leaves. Leaves Jongin behind again. Jongin’s starting to understand why being left behind is such an awful feeling.

 

 

 

Their next music video happens two and a half months after the first. When Jongin steps onto the set, the first thing he does is make a beeline for Sehun. He hasn’t seen him since that night at the bar, and there’s something he really wants to clarify.

“You don’t hate me?”

“I’m sorry?” Sehun looks up at him, looking genuinely confused.

“You said you don’t hate me. Is that true or were you just drunk?”

“... What?”

Jongin pauses. “You… you don’t remember.”

“If this is something that occurred that night in the bar, then yes, I do not remember. Sorry. Please get changed and go into hair and makeup; we need to get started soon.”

Jongin wants to scream and cry at the same time.

 

 

 

Jongin doesn’t try to meet up with Sehun anymore. He doesn’t send any text messages to him, and he doesn’t receive any from him. The only interaction they have happens on set, and it never strays from professional conversation.

But every night before Jongin goes to bed, he unlocks his phone, scrolls to the top of his picture folder, and opens up a file that’s now almost six years old. It’s a little grainy, but Jongin can always make out the slope of Sehun’s nose and how Sehun’s eyes are trained up on his face. He can see the joy spread across the smile on Sehun’s face, and he can see that joy mirrored on his own. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel the softness of Sehun’s hair against his cheek.

He’d made a mistake. He knew that the night he packed his suitcase and left, and he still knows that now.

 

 

 

“Please,” Jongin whispers, walking up to Sehun. They’ve just finished shooting their last music video, and that means their contract’s ended. “Please just talk to me. I want to at least try and fix things before we part ways.”

Sehun coils up a thick wire and slides it into a bag. He sighs. He waits until his assistant leaves the studio before turning to look at Jongin.

“Fine. You're right; I lied. About what I said all those months ago in that bar. I remember everything I said – and yes, I don't hate you. But I don't want to go through this again either."

“I want to work it out.”

“What is this ‘it’ you’re talking about? Because in my eyes, this ‘it’ is two broken hearts, a scar that reopens, scabs over, and reopens all over again. ‘It’ is a bunch of regrets tied together in an ugly bow, apologies long overdue, and bitterness on the back of tongues. So what exactly is it that you want to work out, Jongin?”

“I made a mistake, Sehun. I was young, impulsive, and scared of feeling what I felt. I was scared that you might start to love me back if I stayed longer. Leaving before those feelings could develop was the best thing to do, or so I thought. I know it’s no excuse, but –”

“Then don’t say it,” Sehun interrupts. “Besides, I’ve already heard this speech, haven’t I?”

Jongin pulls out something from his pocket and unfolds it. It’s that picture of them he has on his phone, printed out onto photo paper. He places it on the table and pushes it towards Sehun. He sees recognition flickering across Sehun’s face.

“I loved you then, and I still love you now. I want to continue loving you if you’ll let me.”

“I loved you then, but back then, you didn’t let me,” Sehun says softly, fingertips brushing along the edges of the picture. “You didn’t give us a chance.”

“Then don’t make the same mistake I did,” Jongin says, desperation starting to seep into his voice. “Give us a chance. I’ve learned, Sehun, I know why I made that mistake. I recognise that mistake. I regret that mistake. Let me fix it. Help me fix it.”

There’s a chair situated not far behind Sehun, and the director sinks down onto it.

Jongin takes a step forward and kneels down by Sehun’s legs. Sehun gazes down at him.

“I’m not proud of what I did. I regretted it the next night when I woke up alone. I’ve never felt so alone in my home.”

“I can imagine,” Sehun mumbles. Jongin swallows.

“I made my career out of my unspoken apologies to you. I danced because I couldn’t tell you that I was sorry, that I loved you, that I still do. I spent years choreographing pieces that told stories of what could have been, of what things once were. I incorporated you into my dance because even though I couldn’t have you, I could have my dance. If I never left, maybe I would still have you. Maybe we would’ve figured things out. And that fact haunts me every night, Sehun. I never thought I’d have the chance to fix things, but then you appeared in front of me. I have a chance now, and although it might still be too late, I’m going to take it. You don’t have to forgive me now, but give me the chance to earn it.”

Gingerly, Sehun reaches out and caresses the curve of Jongin’s cheek with his fingertips. Neither of them say anything, and the only movement in the room is the fluttering of eyelids and the rise and fall of their chests.

“Please love me back,” Jongin sighs, leaning into the touch.

The silence stretches out for so long that Jongin starts to lose hope all over again. Then, Sehun retracts his hand.

“I do,” he says. “I do love you back.”

Heart racing, Jongin looks up. Sehun’s lips quirk.

 

 

 

They spend a long time relearning and rediscovering each other. Six years of anger, resentment, and heartbreak do not take a single day to fix, even if buoyed by a sea of apologies.

From the way they curl into each other in their sleep, to the way they cut their sandwiches (Sehun cuts them diagonally; Jongin cuts them into squares), to the way they shower (Sehun washes his hair first; Jongin washes it sometime in the middle), and to the way they tackle issues in their jobs, Sehun and Jongin slowly fall in love with each other all over again.

They slowly learn to let go of the past and to reconnect with the present. They learn to anticipate the future. Sehun doesn’t tell Jongin that he’s forgiven, but Jongin knows. Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting, however, and the both of them realize that. But they’ve been stuck in the lost love of their pasts for so long that embracing their current love is a great breath of fresh air.

Eight years after they first meet, they turn thirty. Somewhere in between, they’ve learned to live a life without barricades, and Jongin puts on his ballet shoes again.

**Author's Note:**

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